


All That I'm Asking For (With Every Beat of My Heart)

by flowerofnettles



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama & Romance, F/M, Pete's World (Doctor Who), Pete's World Torchwood, Post-Episode: s04e13 Journey's End, Romance, Rose Tyler Loves the Doctor, THE METACRISIS DOCTOR IS THE REAL DOCTOR, The Doctor Loves Rose Tyler, Tiny bit of Angst, and ya'll can fight me (and Rose Tyler) on that, post-journey's end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-01-15 07:06:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21249395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerofnettles/pseuds/flowerofnettles
Summary: The Doctor had left that beach and gone back to his own universe to stay, and it'd hurt worse than the first time because it had been his choice—his choice to leave her without even a goodbye. Rose had felt almost as lost as before, and hadn't helped that the moment they—she, her mum, and the clone, or whatever he was—stepped foot back at the Tyler mansion, three different species invaded Earth all at once, forcing her and the clone into action at Torchwood.Now, as she holds his hand and counts the single heartbeat in his wrist, Rose just wishes he would open his eyes one more time. In between that, she wishes she wasn't such a stupid ape, so maybe she could figure out what her stupid problem had been.Why hadn't she just been able toseethat he was right here all along?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you've left a comment on any of my previous stories and I didn't respond, I'm so sorry! I've always tried to in the past, but this semester has been hell...in a good way I guess. x) I'm super busy with an independent experiment and trying to make my senior year count, so I just want you to know I do read and appreciate every single comment and I will get around to replying. I just wanted to go ahead and post the start of this fic because I've been working on it for weeks now and I think my fellow few Doctor/Rose fans still lingering in the fandom will like it. :) Oh and I almost forgot! The fic title comes from the song All That I'm Asking For by Lifehouse, which I always felt like was a good Metacrisis Doctor/Rose song. :) Hope you enjoy!

She wondered, many times during those long, rainy days, if it had been like this every time he’d regenerated, and if so, whether he’d been alone or not all those times. By the third, long, rainy day, she’d decided that probably not all of his regenerations went so wrong. After all, the last time, one whisper in his ear had been enough to pull him to consciousness. This time, his one heart was beating so slowly she feared it might stop at any second and hours of talking hadn’t gotten even the slightest twitch out of him.

By the fifth day, she just sat in silence and listened to his heartbeat mixed with the falling rain on the window and held his overheated hand. Her mum and dad stopped in, of course, like one or both did several times every day. Jackie took Rose’s place at the bedside and talked to his unresponsive form for a solid half-hour about the tea she’d brought.

“It’s just the same as before,” she said with the same sweet hope she had when she brought a tin full on Day One. “It helped the first time, so…or was that the first time, really? Rose tells me this is the tenth face you’ve had. If you didn’t use tea all those other times, then what? What could make you better, Doctor? What do you need? Please tell us. Tell us what you need, my darling.”

Rose watched from the doorway as her mother stroked his hair with all the lovingness she’d once used to soothe her as a child. She whispered quietly to her father about all the times she’d thought it was funny that the Doctor and her mum didn’t get along, how their bickering had made her laugh so many times. Pete gave her the rest of his cup of tea after she finished hers, kissed her temple, and whispered that he’d be back up later with good food, after they put Tony to bed.

Rose nodded, hugged Jackie tightly, and sat back down in her again-silent room. She filled a cup with fresh tea and sat it on the table near him so he could smell the soothing fumes, just in case.

All during the sixth, long, rainy day, she replayed everything that had gotten them here in her head over and over and still couldn’t figure out what her stupid problem had been.

_“I really don’t see why you’re so upset,”_ Jackie had told her bluntly that first night. _“He seems fine to me. He’s even got the same face and everything, and you didn’t get that the other time, did you?”_

That could have been it, if Rose had been smart enough to listen. She could have accepted her mother’s (sometimes hard-to-see) wisdom and that could have been the end of it. But she was a stupid ape, and she just hadn’t been able to _see_.

\--------------------------------------------

ten days ago

“You don’t understand, Mum,” was her best reply, as she'd flopped back onto one of the hotel chairs, head reeling. “That makes it almost worse. You saw what he did to the Daleks. You heard what the Doctor said about him—‘Too dangerous to be left on his own.’ If he really was the Doctor, why would _the Doctor_ say that about him?”

Jackie huffed and let her shoulders slump the same way she always had when Rose had been a stubborn toddler and Jackie had decided to let her do what she wanted to learn the hard way.

“You’re forgetting everything else the other Doctor said about him,” Jackie answered quietly as she picked up her discarded socks off her bedspread. “He’s not that much different, you know, even with what he did to the Daleks. Personally I think he did the right thing, and I think the other Doctor knew that too. It would’ve had to be done either way, wouldn’t it? The Daleks couldn’t have been allowed to go off on their own.”

Rose stared at the palm of her hand, unwilling to look up.

“I don’t know,” she said stubbornly.

“Well, I do. I think you’re seeing this the wrong way, Rose. He’s not even as bad as when you first met him. You grew fond of that one quickly enough. And you kissed this one right away, don’t forget. What did you do, change your mind right afterward? Why won’t you give him a chance?”

Rose pushed herself off the chair and started toward the bathroom to wash up for the night, ignoring the first question (because honestly she had no idea how to answer) and going for the second instead.

“I _will_ give him a chance, Mum,” she assured, “but I’m sorry. There’s just no convincing me that that man in there is the Doctor. He’s a piece of him, maybe, a sort of echo, but not the real, whole thing. He can’t be. There’s only one.”

Somewhere in her heart she knew she needed to think about this more, but she was a bit stuck at how her mum had referred to the real Doctor—her Doctor, _their_ Doctor, the one who was gone again now, probably forever this time. Jackie had called him “the other Doctor.” Rose would _never_ be able to think that way. There was no “other Doctor.” There was just the one, the only, the unique, and the wonderful Doctor. Anything else was a cheap knockoff.

She never said that out loud, so she never worried too much if the man in the adjoining room was listening. Even if he’d been sitting there in his blue suit in the dark with his back against the thin wall, hearing everything she’d just said, it wasn’t like she was telling lies. If he asked she’d tell him that she was sure he was brilliant, and she was sure they would find a place for him, and they would be good friends, but he wasn’t _him_. That was just the way it was.

In the end, the things she’d actually said to him weren’t nearly as sensible out loud as they’d sounded in her head.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

They hadn’t even gotten through the door of the Tyler mansion before it started.

Her life had never been normal once the Doctor had swaggered his way into it with his sassy leather jacket and haunted blue eyes. After that overcast morning in Norway that she now called The Worst Day of her life, it had been a dizzy kaleidoscope of Torchwood and aliens and technology and constantly twisting all of the above together to find a way to get back to him. She hadn’t exactly expected all of that to go away now, but she also hadn’t really had the chance to register the fact that she had found him and she was still here and he was gone again, either.

The clone got the door for them. She offered him a half-smile that was truly sincere, because after all he hadn't done anything wrong. The first thing he’d done after the Doctor had gone was allow her, shell-shocked and sad as she was, to run her fingers along the collar of his blue jacket; he’d not tried to talk or touch her (other than continuing to hold her other hand). He’d just held her gaze evenly, like he’d been trying to tell her something very, very important with his eyes. 

Then he’d let her pull her hand out of his, and he hadn’t tried to reach for it again. The whole way back, in the cabs to the airport and on the plane, he’d talked quite a bit about nothing serious and made both Rose and Jackie laugh (or at least smile, in Rose’s case) more than once. But amidst his quiet, unassuming jokes, she had felt his gaze on her…like he was waiting to see something. She’d wondered if it was the Rose in his memories that he was wanting to see, and felt almost bad because those were copied memories of a man that he only _almost_ was, and so she wouldn’t be the same around him as she had been with the real Doctor. She couldn’t be. How could she?

Maybe if she’d been paying attention to him instead of how he sounded painfully like the man she’d thought was lost, she would have realized sooner that he _was_ that man, sitting there, right beside her. As it happened, she’d hardly even tried looking straight at him long enough to appreciate his familiar unique beauty before it all went mad around them.

The nonterrestrials across this galaxy were considerably braver when it came to Earth and attempting to take it over, being that there was no clever man with a blue box to step between and warn them off. For a solid hundred years, secret government organizations (with Torchwood in the lead) had been holding multiple attacks at bay. It was only a matter of time, though, and the right opportunity, before one or more of the known extraterrestrials would make their move against still-undeveloped Earth.

Apparently Torchwood’s distraction with the stars going out and their multi-dimensional cannon’s suddenly working was all opportunity enough. 

_“The Sontarans and the Cybermen and the Atraxi,”_ a young cadet had explained hastily to Pete and Rose as soon as they’d walked in the door of the mansion, _“they’re all moving in. Intel says they’ve got some sort of contract. They’ll be armed and on us in a matter of hours.”_

The clone let the front door close behind Jackie (whose primary concern was her baby boy inside), and moved to listen with single-minded attention to the quick explanations. When he instantly started rattling off complicated theories about which of the adversaries was planning on betraying the other the worst and how Torchwood could use that to their advantage, the whole platoon of soldiers stared with dumbfounded expressions. The clone didn’t seem to care when Rose stumbled over words for a good six seconds when someone asked her who this man was; he only answered confidently, _“Yes, I am,”_ when a young agent pressed breathlessly if he was The Doctor they’d been waiting for.

Pete Tyler didn’t even demand one single explanation before allowing the clone complete access to every part of Torchwood that he and his daughter had.

It should have clicked for Rose right then, but unfortunately she was too distracted with her own responsibilities to watch him as he reprogrammed half-a-dozen standard computers in a matter of seconds without even a sonic screwdriver and then demanded to know if anybody had a pair of useless glasses, preferably with sort of rectangular frames, _“or possibly a pair of paper 3D glasses, like you get at the movies. No? I just think they’re brilliant. Okay, then. Never mind. I’ll get some later. Has anyone got an info stamp handy—you know, those things the Cybermen use to store digital records? You have got those somewhere in your inventory, haven’t you?”_

Much later, sitting in that chilly room, Rose thought about how, if she’d seen him properly for who he was, she never would have left his side in that moment, how she would’ve just stood there are listened to that voice and been grateful for the gift she’d been given. She listened to nothing but the rain against the window for a solid two hours and hoped she’d get the chance to do just that again.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

For the next three days after the attack on Earth had been announced, he’d been brilliant—absolutely, dazzlingly brilliant.

In the first eight or ten hours, he had transported himself onto the Sontarans’ vessel (without asking anyone’s permission or even bothering to inform any of the dozen or so soldiers around him, of course). They could only guess, but it seemed like he’d been maneuvering covertly around it, searching for something, for a good while. At last he teleported back down, and then Rose and a small team of soldiers made their way to the Cybermen’s old storehouses to meet him and set up the trap for the old tinheads.

If she’d let herself think about it, she would’ve seen him—wild, confident, shouting out clever plans to anyone within hearing distance and mouthing off half-jokes/half-threats to the aliens that tried attacking several times. But she fought it, that urge to adore his lightning-quick mind and unpredictable sense of humor and the way he winked at the Cybermen as he shut down two-thirds of their power systems to prevent their converting any humans.

Despite everything, the two of them worked together like the sun and rain. Proudly and unreservedly, he declared how little she'd changed in between babbling out answers and explanations to the (still) dumbstruck people of Torchwood. She listened to him talk and watched their faces as trust and admiration slowly began to dawn—not just trust in him, but in them both, because everybody noticed how they worked together, seamlessly, like they’d been doing it for years. She successfully ignored that, too; each time she started to warm up to the idea, she thought of the proper Doctor, in a universe far away where she could never hold his hand again, and she couldn’t feel anything for this lesser Doctor through the pain of that loss.

Then there was a long time—a couple of days, almost—of running and evacuating paranoid civilians as the attacks began. It was all a blur now of threes—three sorts of invaders, three sorts of spaceships, three different ways of attacking an underdeveloped species, three different ways of planning to stop said attacks. She got only a few hours’ sleep during a quiet power outage at Torchwood in the night.

It was the next day, when she woke up, that all hell really broke loose.

She really should have taken it as the universe sending her a message when the Sycorax showed up.


	2. Chapter 2

He hadn’t done anything to deserve it.

That was the point, really, she realized later (_too late_). He’d been wonderful. The whole time, for the whole attack, he’d been nothing but wonderful, gorgeous, and he had won the hearts and minds of every one of her comrades. It didn’t occur to her until they finally stopped to breathe, trapped and cornered in an abandoned Cybermen factory, that he had almost won her as well. For hours they had been joking back and forth, shyly and awkwardly at first but getting bolder and warmer by the minute, a little snarky and a little affectionate and a little flirty, and she had been smiling at him without having to think about it and he had been looking perfectly happy (in between the giving out orders and the manic scheming, that is).

She would have to be a lying idiot to say that it was his fault that she'd said what she had, because it wasn’t. It was just her, fighting her own heart, and he had been the center of the storm. He was always the center of everything she did, since the day they met.

It had taken seven, little words. Just seven words, and she had done something she could never take back.

For a solid thirty minutes, she and three Torchwood agents had watched him run around the half-demolished place, gathering up computer boards and workshop pieces only to find them broken or rusted and therefore impossible to use. He had been getting more and more frustrated with the pitiful human technology, especially with the knowledge that four enemies that would have feared his reputation in his own universe were now making a mess of this version of his beloved Earth, and he couldn’t even threaten them properly because _this lot didn’t even have a solitary legend of The Doctor yet_. Rose and the others could see his frustration clearly. He made no attempt to hide it.

Finally, Rose got too frustrated as well with watching people around her die, and knowing more people were dying elsewhere. She’d demanded to know if he had a plan, and he had stopped, just briefly. It was a momentary pause, that second of quiet desperation before he would suddenly burst with a genius idea that would blow their minds. She’d seen it dozens of times when she’d been his companion.

“I don’t know what to do yet.”

Seven, little words that only would have lasted that moment. He knew exactly what to do. It just hadn’t made its way to the front of his brain yet. Rose recognized it immediately for what it was. But the face of one of her Torchwood friends, a lad named Tim who’d always brought her tea with a kind smile, flashed in her memory. He’d been shot down by the Sontarans outside just a few hours ago.

“The Doctor stopped the Sycorax the moment he woke up from his regeneration,” she said, not trying to stop herself, feeling totally justified. “He knew what to do straightaway. He didn’t even have to think. If you were him, you would’ve stopped them already.”

It was a lie; he’d been doing everything possible to stop them, and a few things that weren’t, but she shoved that knowledge aside in favor of being needlessly angry.

“Rose—”

His brown eyes were so patient, so gentle, so pained at the losses around them but still so full of hope. It hurt her just to see the familiarity of it.

“Wait,” someone had interrupted nearby—Sally Fields, one of the higher-up Torchwood agents who’d volunteered as ground defense. “I’m not understanding. Miss Tyler, I thought you said this man was the Doctor, the one you’ve been talking about.”

It wasn’t fair. She knew it even as she answered, but she answered anyway.

“He said that.” She kept her gaze down, not wanting to see the hurt look she feared would be in his eyes. “I never did.”

“Rose,” his voice said quietly, so so familiar, the way the true Doctor used to sound when talking to someone who needed help, “I know you’re confused about all of this. Believe me, I understand. But I am the Doctor—it’s me, honestly it is.”

She thought about that for a few heartbeats, as bright red emergency lights flashed and alarms continued to echo all around them, and then she started something she would always wish she could take back. But in the moment she felt only grief for herself, for the people around her, for her lost Doctor...she was exhausted and stressed and confused…and it all got the better of her.

“No.” She ignored the flash of dismay in his gaze and carried on, dully. “He left me. The Doctor left me, just like he always planned to, just like Sarah Jane and all the others. He decided it was better that way and left me with you because it was easier on him, even though you’re not…”

She trailed off, not daring to continue because if she did, she might break down in the middle of all this.

There was something like hurt in his eyes now, but somehow she felt like it wasn’t for himself; it was more sympathy and a touch of guilt, like he regretted making her feel that way, which was silly because it wasn’t his fault he’d been dumped into this world.

“I’m sorry,” Rose found herself saying, once she’d gotten a hold of her tears, and she meant it sincerely. “I don’t want to hurt you, really, I don’t. You’re great and all. It’s just you’re not him.”

He was silent for a moment, and then he said something that surprised her, with even more sincerity and conviction than she’d ever heard from her Doctor before.

“Oh, Rose, I am sorry. I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through because of me.”

A little smile brightened his eyes, which remained locked onto hers.

“But you don’t have to feel you’ve lost anything,” he went on, “because you _really_ haven’t. You’ve gained so much more than either of us ever could have expected. I’m here, and we are going to be fine—more than fine, we’re going to be _amazing_. You just watch.”

“I’m sorry,” she answered, meaning it, “but it’s not gonna be like that.”

“As soon as you see it, Rose Tyler, it will,” he countered, and somehow the certainty in his too-familiar voice made a flash of hot anger rise up in her chest.

“That’s not for you to say,” she snapped at him. “It’s my life, and you and the…the Doctor, you don’t just get to choose what’s best for me, d’you understand? He meant everything to me, and he tried to send me away _twice_, and now he’s just left me here without even saying goodbye.”

“I didn’t need to,” he said, voice calm and sure as ever, each word enunciated with gentle confidence. “I knew I would still be with you.”

“Don’t you get it?” she nearly shouted, as tears choked her voice a tiny bit. “I know you’re _not_—you’re different from him. I can feel it, do you get that? You look like him but there’s something different, something…not right. You’re not him. I need the Doctor, and _you’re not him_.”

“Rose,”—For the first time, he looked the slightest bit upset, taking a half-step toward her with one hand, that hand, raised placatingly.—“I’m not asking you to see it now, but in your own time, you will. I know you will. I believe in you, and all I’m asking is that you believe in me too, just for the next twenty-four hours. That’s it. After that, if you still think I’m not the Doctor, I’ll never ask you to call me that again. Is that a deal?”

“Stop it!” she really did shout this time, so tired of hopes and deals and dead dreams. “This isn’t a game; this is my life. You don’t get to play with it like it’s something you can just throw away if it doesn’t work out—_especially_ not you. You’re impressive, yeah? You look like him and you sound like him, I’ll give you that much, but you and me…we’re not…we don’t…”

She struggled to find the words. What had she and the Doctor been? She’d never known, not really, and now she never would.

“Rose,” he said, appearing to have regained his surety but full of intense energy all the same, “you mean so much to me, honestly you do, and when all this is over I’m going to prove that to you. I promise I will. But right now we’ve got a world to save, yeah? We’ve been doing it already today, just like the old days, you and me—Mutt ’n’ Jeff, Shiver and Shake, remember?”

She did remember. She remembered those playful words, some of the last the Doctor had ever said to her, just before she’d lost her grip on their happy life and fallen into the parallel world without him. And despite everything, here she was, still in that same parallel world, still without him. Those words were stolen, from stolen memories from a stolen mind—a mind that was still out there, somewhere, forgetting her now.

“That’s not us,” she said, knowing she probably sounded meaner than she meant but frustrated that he didn’t seem to be getting it. “Do you understand that? I don’t mean anything to you, and you don’t mean anything to me. I fell in love with a different man, a man who’d know what to do to save us. You’re just a cheap copy who can’t even stop a few Cybermen, let alone the rest of the armies up there!”

It was difficult to tell whether the flash of emotion in his face was hurt or distress or something else. He opened his mouth to reply, but Agent Fields interrupted again, obviously irritated with their little quarrel in the middle of the battle.

“Miss Tyler, are you saying we _shouldn’t_ listen to him?”

There was a moment during which she could almost literally feel his gaze on her, heavy and expectant, and then she couldn’t even decide on the best way to respond because she _just didn’t know_. She’d thought the Doctor would want her back with him, sailing through the stars in his TARDIS, laughing and running like they had before. She’d thought she’d be with him now, holding his hand, instead of here, facing all this, having been dumped without even a farewell. All this time she’d worked to get back to him and he’d just swanned off with his latest companion, the Doctor Donna who was apparently genius enough to hold his attention. He hadn’t even said thank you for all the years she’d spent fighting in his name, for all the devotion she’d demonstrated to find him again. The fissure in the universe had closed behind him and Rose didn’t know anything anymore really.

“I’m not saying that,” she answered at last.

“So he does know what he’s doing?”

True to form, it was in that very second that the Doctor’s plan caught up with his brain, and he shouted out something about the pipes in the back wall of the laboratory before dashing out of the room and forcing the others to follow.

After that, it was all a blur again of running and dodging ray guns and ducking through corridors, and she didn’t have time to think about what she’d said as he instructed her to take an info stamp and go with Agent Fields to the teleport. She just obeyed, because his stolen mind seemed clever enough to know what it was doing; her own mind could acknowledge that, even if her heart could never be touched by it.

——————————————-----------------------------

An hour later, she thought she was going to die for sure at last.

The Sycorax and the Sontarans were the only two of the four invading species who didn’t seem concerned about destroying each other for the moment. She could understand why; they had a lot in common, probably saw each other like cousins. They certainly felt the same way about battle. They were making her headache worse with all the hooting and chanting.

Luckily they’d caught her after she’d uploaded the virus that shut down the Sycorax’s ship engines and forced them to teleport over to the Sontarans’ vessels. That left a lot of their weaponry unavailable to them, just like the Doctor had said—no, she reminded herself, not the Doctor, but the other Doctor, the _lesser_ one. 

So here she was, on the Sontarans’ largest fleet ship, about to be executed _“for the glory of the Sontaran empire”_ with brave little Agent Fields. Even if the lesser Doctor was clever enough to do something, he had no idea that she’d been captured, busy as he was with his portion of the plan on the Atraxi ship, whatever his portion of the plan was. He’d neglected to tell them basically anything. By the time he’d figure out where Rose had been taken, it would be too late. She’d be long dead.

Rose positioned herself in front of Agent Fields as the Sontaran who’d introduced himself as the general raised his gun from the table. She took a deep breath in and prepared to die, not daring to hope there was a way out this time. Maybe the clone and the Torchwood team would save the world in the end, but nobody could save the two of them now. She’d just be another casualty in the fight against invasion.

Just as General Staal powered up his weapon to fire, the screen on the main console of the ship cut itself on, crackled a bit, and there he was.

“Oy, stop that now, General Staal,” he chided like a long-suffering school teacher, and then added with more gravity, “You hurt that woman, the deal is off and you’ll have me to answer to.”

“Deal?” General Staal demanded. “What deal? We make no deals with the enemy!”

“And what about with a friend? Because I’ve got to tell you, General, you’re going to need one right about now and I’m offering. I’d take that chance if I were you.”

As the generals of both the Sycorax and the Sontaran armies demanded to know what he meant, Rose couldn’t pull her eyes away from his face on the screen. He was positively glowing, all lit up with adventure and the thrill of using his unmatched genius for good yet again. His hair was wild, his eyes wilder, and the easy, ever-confident smile tugging at both corners his mouth was the most reassuring sight Rose could’ve hoped for. Behind him she recognized the main Torchwood headquarters, still intact, people in white lab coats and black combat uniforms bustling about in the background of the Doctor’s triumph, no doubt following his orders with all the faith his confidence inspired.

He wasn’t looking at her, but if he had been, he might’ve seen her mask cracking. She knew it was, because she could _see_ him. She could see her Doctor, shining out from those lovely dark eyes. Funny how, just like when he’d changed the first time, it had taken him saving her from certain death to make Rose see him.

The screen above the one on which the Doctor had appeared crackled to life now, and then the Atraxi were there too, filling up the visual with one giant blue eye. They demanded that the Sontarans give up the Sycorax, who, as the Doctor had proven to them, were planning on betraying them as soon as the Earth was overtaken. The Sontarans, not shockingly, did not take well to being ordered about by giant eyeball-stars, and the Sycorax roared their rage at being accused of dishonor, making Rose’s headache worse.

She ignored it all, however, never looking away from him, as he cut into the ensuing argument a couple of times with a witty insult or two—just for the hell of it, she was sure. He was doing something else, too, off-screen, his hands full of wires every time they came into view and he kept holding a wrench in his mouth then taking it out again, brows knitted together in furious concentration. She was so wrapped up in watching him that she almost missed it when the few remaining Cybermen got involved in the mix, appearing on a different screen, grating monotone voices adding their own brand of insults to the shouting.  
Then, the Atraxi vowed with all authority that they would prevail over both the Sontarans and the Sycorax, all while the Cybermen suddenly teleported aboard so close to where Rose and Agent Fields stood that the older woman yelped in surprise and reached for her nonexistent sidearm that had been confiscated by the Sycorax.

As metal Cyberman limbs clanged against enormous Sycoraxic swords and Sontaran ray guns fired from the side of the ship toward the Atraxi’s nearby, something beeped in Rose’s pocket. She already knew what it would be before she even pulled it out—the info stamp the Doctor had given her to upload the virus into the Sycorax ship computer.

She looked up, realization dawning, and felt her heart skip when she saw that for the first time, he was looking straight at her. He didn’t look wild anymore; he looked sweet, soft, his eyes glowing not with adventure now but with something else entirely—pride, reassurance, love maybe. His smile grew at the look of amazed realization on her face, and a tiny nod of encouragement was all she needed. She always had understood him and his plans so very well.

She was too overwrought to form a full smile—not sad or angry now, but overwrought with wonder, like a great burden had been lifted off her shoulders and she could finally relax again after years. That’s exactly what had happened, she realized, and only broke his gaze to obey his silent instructions—not obeying out of habit now, but out of her own intense faith in him.

Dodging a Cyberman elbow, she dove forward and held the info stamp above the main circuitboard. She glimpsed the screen and saw the Doctor holding two of the wires together; a zap of blue energy flickered between the wires, and then the whole ship where she stood shuddered and jolted.

She only just had time to register the matching blue teleport beam surrounding her before she was gone from the disappearing ship, carried on a different energy wave out of danger.

——————————————-------------------------------------

As soon as they’d landed roughly on the teleport pad in the empty Cyberman factory in the dead-center of London, Rose was skittering clumsily to the nearest window.

The skies were empty—no ships, no engine exhaust, not even clouds. She couldn’t be positive, but she had a suspicion of what had happened. The Doctor had needed access to each of their separate energy sources, those powering the ships, which he’d combined in tandem with the teleport technology at the Cyberman factories. Once he had it all together, he worked out a way to pit all the invaders against one another at once, and then he activated the teleport from the Torchwood headquarters. Using a specific signal to lock onto Rose and Agent Fields and transport them back down, he organized the other signal on the ships and their occupants. The Sontarans, the Atraxi, the Sycorax, and the Cybermen had all been transported elsewhere, to some far corner of space where the only harm they could do was to each other, locked in battle for however long it took for there to be a victor, if any of them ever would be. And the Earth was safe.

Rose leapt down, determined to get to him as quickly as she possibly could…because he was there. He really was; the Doctor was there, and she’d been stupid and blind all this time, and she knew she’d make it up to him if it was the last thing she ever did. They had all the time in the world now. He had saved them all, just like the Doctor always did. He was home.

She stumbled away from the window and dashed as fast as she could toward the exit, breathless and overwhelmed with joy and hope and _love_.

“Where are you going?” Agent Fields had managed to shout after her, as soon as the other woman had caught her breath.

“To the Doctor!” she’d shouted back, without stopping, as she dashed down the long corridor and out of sight.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments so far! I'm so glad there are still people out there who remember Rose and the Doctor because they're honestly my original OTP. And one of my favorite fic types is sickfics...so here you are with that trope and I hope you enjoy it! x)

It normally would have taken fifteen minutes to get to Torchwood from there. She was flashing her badge at the front gate scanner in less than ten, not having to stop even at traffic lights since no one was out, the whole earth still cowering in their homes.

The Torchwood headquarters was chaos, but the very best kind—the kind that comes after people are frightened and the fear vanishes, when they’ve been saved against all odds and all they know how to do is laugh and hug and cheer. Rose pushed her way through the people, dashing around them impatiently, until she saw him.

He was standing at the front line of desks, leaned against one with his Converse-clad feet crossed at the ankles and watching the giant screen at the front. A wide-eyed news anchor, trembling with the same excitement infecting the Torchwood group, was announcing the world was free from invaders and it was safe to go outside again.

She approached slowly, recalling how cruel she had been before and feeling ashamed of herself but still dying to touch him. The rest of the room’s noise and movement seemed to fade away as she stopped beside him and tried to think of the best thing to say.

She was so occupied with this little conundrum, her eyes darting to the screen as fireworks were shown overtop some city in China, she didn’t notice at first that he was slumped a little too low or that his breathing was shallow.

“Well,” she said after a few seconds, as someone laughed a little too loudly nearby, “I don’t think this lot are going to be getting much done in the next few hours. Guess that means we can have the evening off before we have to come back and explain everything tomorrow. I’m sure Mum will have some tea waiting.”

She quite literally held her breath as she waited for him to respond to her thinly-concealed peace offering. He hadn’t looked at her yet, which wasn’t a good sign but she could hardly blame him, after the way she’d behaved. Even with her nerves, she couldn’t help but admire his profile in the changing light of the screen in front; she longed to run her hand along the arm of his sleeve and settle her fingers between his own, but she wouldn’t, of course, until she was sure of what he was feeling.

When he still didn’t reply for several more heartbeats, she released her breath and willingly accepted her responsibility to set this right.

“Doctor—” she began, prepared to say whatever was necessary to earn his forgiveness. 

She knew she could; the Doctor was the most merciful person she’d ever known. He would forgive her. She knew he would, because he was the same man she’d seen forgive others dozens of times over for crimes ten thousand times worse that hers. She knew this man standing in front of her. He hadn’t left her at all.

But before she could say anything more, he spoke, his voice full of low urgency despite that everyone else seemed to be celebrating the end of the crisis.

_“Rose.”_

He was still looking straight ahead, but now Rose realized that he didn’t actually seem to be watching the screen. His eyes were glassy, a little distant, and his whole posture screamed that something was very wrong, from the tension in his jaw to the way he gripped the edge of the desk he leaned against. A faint sweat stood out on his brow, and suddenly Rose thought that the white light of the screen might not be why his face looked so pale against the dark blue of his suit.

“Doctor?” she pressed, the first flutters of alarm starting in her chest. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Harsh breaths stuttered out of him, despite that he appeared to be trying to keep control, and he bent over a little more as a tiny whimper escaped his throat.

“Doctor—!”

She reached out to steady him, and finally he turned to look at her, keeping one hand firmly on the desk and leaning heavily on it. His breaths were turning into nothing but panting through his nose, and his eyes, when they met hers, were full of hard pain that turned her alarm into full-blown fear.

“Doctor, tell me what’s wrong,” she pleaded, fighting to maintain her calm.

Rather than answering straightaway, he moved his other hand, trembling and slow, to undo the button of his tight-fitting suit jacket and grip the bottom of his purple t-shirt. She followed his movements as he raised it high until he’d revealed all the way up to the top of his chest, his eyes getting weaker by the second as he looked with a frown at the exposed skin.

She gasped softly as she registered the ugly burn mark in the center of his chest, where Davros’ laser had struck him after he’d appeared in the Crucible, days ago now. The burn would have been painful enough, she realized, at the same time wondering how she’d been neglectful enough not to even ask if he was okay sooner. It looked like a lightning strike, a round contact mark with white lines jutting out around it in all directions where the energy had traveled all the way to his shoulders. But it was worse than that; the deep, round burn was black in the center and inflamed red all along the edges, and the sickly scarlet color was just starting to travel up those scorched lines across his chest. (1) 

It was infected, badly by the looks of it, and of course it would be. When had he had the chance to get it seen to, what with having to save the world singlehandedly while everyone else depended on him? He must’ve been fighting off the inevitable for the last two days at least, all while outsmarting four enemy invaders and formulating plans to rescue hundreds, and that only made her more sure than ever. Only the Doctor could be so impossibly strong.

She raised her fearful eyes back up to his, noting how his breaths were even shallower now, his eyes blurring. She reached out instinctively and went down with him when his knees buckled, holding a steady hand to his shoulder where they crouched together on the floor.

“Rose,” he murmured, “sorry—”

“No, it’s not your fault,” she told him, forcing positivity into her voice, trying to push away the thought of how similar this was to when he’d been shot by the Dalek back in the other dimension and was dying in her arms on that empty street.

But he didn’t seem to notice her words, as he squeezed his eyes closed for a moment and then forced himself to hold her gaze again as steadily as he could.

“Remember,” he gasped out, swallowing harshly, as he wrapped one arm around his stomach as though it was hurting him too, “I’ve just regenerated. It always takes a while for the new cells to settle properly, and usually I need—I need to rest sometime right after. I haven’t gotten the chance this time, and it—it’s just a late reaction, on top of the injury.”

He harshly cried out this time, unable to stop it, hunching over on himself. Rose scrambled to keep him upright with both hands, and then he recovered just enough to look at her again.

“I suppose,” he said, with a good dose of his old wry humor under the awful pain, “I’ll have to get…used to being…so human. I haven’t eaten since we got here—the last time was in the marketplace on Shan Shen, with Donna, before all this started—and I-I think I’m just…hungry now too. Didn’t used to need to eat so often, but I don’t kn-know how much the humanity’s affecting me yet. I don’t know what to expect, and I…”

He trailed off, seeming to lose his breath, closing his eyes tightly for a second.

“You haven’t eaten or slept in three days?” Rose demanded, a rush of distress shooting through her.

She’d seen the Doctor do incredible things on no rest and little food before. But that’s when he’d been fully Time Lord, when his body was wired to survive like that, and never when he’d just regenerated, into a more fragile human form, _and_ he was suffering from an infection. To see him like this, now, knowing it was all for them…it made her heart break and heal all at the same time.

She raised one hand to his cheek, cupping his jaw gently in one palm, her thumb instinctively stroking his cheekbone. She’d always been so careful with this kind of gesture before, both of them knowing what it could lead to if they didn’t keep a careful hold on their feelings. Now, however, she knew by the sudden softness in his expression that her touch was welcome, but she could hardly be grateful for that when fierce heat emanated off his skin.

“You’re burning up,” she murmured anxiously.

He did not respond except to look up and force his fever-bright eyes to focus on her face. The brown burned into her hazel, and she didn’t even dare to blink when he spoke, his words a little halting and jumbled but nonetheless full of great intensity, as though they were the most important words he had to say.  
“I meant it,” he said, a shudder trembling through him, “what I said on the beach—I meant it.”

Her heart fluttered, recalling how the words had sounded in her ear, how long she’d waited to hear them.

“Remember that,” he told her, more like a plea than an order. “Rose, I’m here. It’s okay, really. I’m here.”

She wanted to reply, to make him understand how much she realized that now. But his remaining strength was failing, and as soon as the words had left his mouth he went limp, falling sideways against the desk noisily. She caught him as best she could, moving him so that he was cradled in her lap, his fevered cheek pressed against her arm, and she shouted for help.

————————————————-------------------------------------

Everyone close by had leapt to her side when they saw it was the miracle-working Doctor who now needed _them_. Four men lifted him gently off the floor and onto the desk, someone shoved a balled-up lab coat under his head, someone else called for the official Torchwood physician. Dr. Valden arrived quickly, concluded he was stable but very weak and ill, and assured Rose she would collaborate with the lab to find out which antibiotics would not react badly with his unique dual biology. But when she started to order a hospital bed be set up somewhere in the north tower, Rose interrupted.

“No.”

Dr. Valden turned at her tone, and Rose held her gaze and spoke in a voice that allowed for no argument.

“The Doctor’s coming home with me,” she said. “Whenever you figure out what he needs, you have it brought there.”

Dr. Valden looked as though she would have protested, but then her gaze flickered down to where Rose was unconsciously gripping the Doctor's arm as he lay silent and sick, and she simply nodded.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll call for a helicopter.”

————————————————--------------------------------------

And that was how she ended up here, sitting at her own bedside with him motionless under the comforter, his eyes not even shifting under his closed lids. That in itself made no sense. He was always moving, always full of energy and life, even in his sleep. But it had been a week and a day now with not even a twitch out of him. The injury was mostly healed, the antibiotics Dr. Valden had administered having flushed out the infection almost completely. It had been a bit of a battle what with them catching it so late and being so limited on what they could give him, but that wasn’t really the problem anymore.

In fact, nobody knew what the problem actually was. Back when he’d changed the first time from the Ninth to the Tenth, they’d tucked him up in their guest room on the estate and she’d wished she knew who to call to treat him. This time they had the whole British government at their disposal, and it was useless with answers. She should’ve guessed that would happen.

He slept on, given nutrients twice a day by an IV, and Rose was going to go mad if something didn’t change. But then on the other hand, what if it changed for the worse? She’d been through hell to get back to him, fighting with aliens and government organizations and technology to build the dimension cannon to find him, willing to give up her family and her life here if it meant being with him again. Now she’d gotten the best of everything she could ever want—she still had her mum, her dad, little Tony, a place and a purpose, but on top of all that she’d gotten him too. She was the luckiest woman alive. And she hadn’t even hugged him yet.

She set down her tea on the side table; it had gone cold ten minutes ago anyway. Adjusting on the uncomfortable chair, she reached out to take his hand; in the low, storm-grey light coming in though the window, she gently turned it over on the blanket so she could follow the lines on his palm with her fingertips. This hand, she thought, had changed her whole world, three times over now—once in a department store basement in London, once on Christmas Day while ash from a destroyed alien ship snowed down on them, and now again, on the shore of Bad Wolf Bay while the TARDIS’s engines faded away. Just one more time, she thought as the rain started to die out again. If he could just do it one more time—wake up and take her hand….

“I’m sorry,” she said into the silence.

She’d said it four times now in the last week, but she’d keep saying it until she knew he’d forgiven her.

She wrapped her other hand around his too and squeezed tightly, as tears started to form in her eyes. She hadn’t cried once yet, not wanting him to hear it if he were aware enough, but he seemed to be wasting away and she couldn’t stand it for much longer. 

Using her sleeve to wipe away the tear that forced itself past her defenses, she toyed with his fingers between her own for several long moments. Then she raised his hand, encased in both of hers, to her lips. She planted a kiss to his knuckles and another to the back of his wrist. At his continued silence, she sighed and set his hand down again, but still held it firmly in one of her own.

“There’s this shop, Doctor,” she said, looking squarely at their linked fingers and not at his face so she could pretend he was awake and listening, “not too far from here. They sell the best chips in this whole version of London. If you’d just tell me, we’ll go get some. Right now, even in this rain. Dad will have one of the company drivers take us there. Can you believe that? I used to take the bus everywhere; didn’t even spend money on a cab. Now we’ve got posh personal drivers. Mum drives them mad on shopping days.”

When there was no answer, she kept going, only glancing up every few words to see if he was responding at all to the sound of her voice.

“Thing is, I’m thinking of all these things now—all the places I can take you and stuff we can do. I didn’t think you’d be coming here, you know? I thought I’d be leaving, so I didn’t think about it. But I can show you around for a change. Your life with me might not be as exciting as mine was with you, but I think you’ll like it anyway. I hope you will. We do fight aliens on a regular day. And you’ve got that bit of the TARDIS—” 

She looked up to where it perched on the dresser not far away, a useless cutting of alien plant without the Doctor to nurture it. (2) 

“—so we can wait for that to grow up. And then we can fly away again, just like before. We can do whatever we want. It’s all fine with me, so long as we’re together.”

_Together,_ he’d said on the beach. She hoped with everything in her that would still be true.

“Because I see now, Doctor,” she went on, her voice a little choked and she only partly tried to fight it. “You were right. I just had to see it, that you haven’t left me. I understand that. So you can wake up. There’s so many things I want to tell you, and I need you to listen. Doctor, I _need_ you.”

She stopped herself, knowing it was all pointless babbling and it wasn’t changing anything. Brushing away another couple of tears with her sleeve, she looked at him again, carefully taking in every angle of his boyishly charming face. She released his hand at last and reached up with the other one to stroke the backs of her fingers across his stubbled cheek.

She couldn’t help but smile just a little as she registered the coolness of his skin; the fever had been going steadily down, but it had finally broken last night and she was still so glad for that small gift. They'd all been hoping it would be enough to wake him him, too, but so far it seemed to have had no effect.

She leaned forward slightly, balancing on her elbow so she could reach his hair. Running her fingers through it, she was careful not to pull on the little tangles too roughly. She wondered briefly why she’d never done this before back in the TARDIS, just touched him like this. She was sure he wouldn’t have minded, not really. He’d grabbed her full around the waist often enough when he’d wanted to move her somewhere, brushed his hand against the small of her back to reassure her, put his arm around the back of her chair and sat close with their legs touching. It was all those little ways she _almost_ hadn’t noticed, they were so natural. Everything was natural with him, even kissing.

She’d thought about it so much these last few days—the taste of his mouth. She hadn’t kissed him at all since he’d collapsed, not even a peck to the cheek, wanting to save it for when he was awake and could appreciate it…which he would. He’d made his enthusiasm clear back on the beach. They’d still need to talk, of course, but that one moment of clarity, of proof about what she’d known in her heart all along, was enough for her. That thought made her change her mind about putting off the taste of his kiss once more, even if it could only be a ghost of what it had been on the beach.

Pushing herself up a bit, she ignored how her hair fell into her face as she brushed her lips against his in a faint, distant echo of that kiss at Bad Wolf Bay. 

“I love you,” she murmured, meaning every word as deeply as when she’d said it the first time, when he’d been an image cast from orbit around a star and she’d thought it was her last chance to make sure he knew.

She wished to see some kind of flickering recognition in him, but of course there was none. Her right hand resumed its combing through his hair, and she studied his face and wished she could redo those first few hours. Even if she could never see him awake again, at least she wished she could go back and do those right.

With that thought finally threatening to overwhelm her, she realized Jackie’s relaxing chamomile tea was settling over her brain at last and making her sleepy. Crawling up onto the bed, she lay on the edge close enough that she would know instantly if he needed her but far enough away not to be touching him. Turning onto her side, facing the lonely darkened corner of her room, she fell into restless, hopeful dreams.

\------------------------------------------------------------

(1) So...I realize that Donna was also zapped with Davros' laser, but let's just say that the regeneration energy healed her in the same second as it awakened the new Doctor part of her mind. x)

(2) Reference to deleted scene from Journey’s End, wherein the Doctor gives the Metacrisis Doctor a piece of the TARDIS to grow his own in the other dimension.


	4. Chapter 4

Her sleep was so light that she sensed the very first movement from the other side of the bed.

Rose didn’t dare even shift, something stopping her—maybe the sleep still lingering over her, maybe the fear that it wasn’t actually real, maybe something else. She just lay still, her eyes closed, until she was sure…until a warm, solid hand settled on her arm. As a presence appeared over her, the familiar scent like the inside of the TARDIS, vanilla and iron and electricity, tickled her nose and pulled her into full consciousness in the space of a second.

She knew he could tell she was awake when the hand disappeared from her arm and reappeared to brush her hair back from her face, so he could see her better.

Her heart pounding in her ears, she rolled over onto her back and blinked her eyes open.

The rain had stopped, and the indirect light of a partly cloudy afternoon now drifted into the room through her window. It fell softly across one half of his face, emphasizing every dip and line, and for the first time since Canary Wharf and their separation, Rose felt like she was exactly where she belonged. He leaned over her so that he was all she could see, close enough that their foreheads would touch if she raised her head, and she’d never been happier in her life.

He was smiling, but there was a shadow of curiosity in his gaze, like he wasn’t sure what she was thinking quite yet. She deserved that, but she hated it; he shouldn’t ever have to question her thoughts toward him. She vowed he never would again.

Her sleepy, dopey smile must have told him something about what she was thinking, because his own smile grew brighter and warmer. 

“Hello,” he said, his voice like honey after the too-long silence.

“Hello,” she answered after a beat, with a touch of laughter at the simplicity of it, the naturalness.

Then she spent a solid ten seconds trying to think of something else to say, torn between wanting to apologize once again and wanting to snog him senseless on the spot.

He didn’t seem to mind that she wasn’t doing either. His gaze drifted from her face to travel around the room, to the Torchwood ID badge she’d flung carelessly on her wardrobe handle, to the pink lacy bra draped on the arm of the chair across the room, and finally to the cloth headboard with the burgundy floral pattern.

“Your bed is _great_,” he declared fervently, loudly. “What is this mattress _made_ of?”

“Memory foam, I think,” she answered, unable to take her eyes off him.

“I’ll have to get one of these,” he declared, “soon as I have money, that is. Blimey, guess I’ll be needing that now, won’t I?”

He didn’t need to worry; Rose had plenty, thanks to Pete. But they both knew he wasn’t actually worried.

They grinned at each other for another three seconds before both broke the charade. She dug her face into his shirt as he dropped down and embraced her tightly, his breaths tickling her hair and their bodies pressed as closely as they could be.

“I’m sorry,” Rose told him, voice muffled by his shoulder, closing her eyes and just feeling his arms around her again.

“What for?”

Tears burned in the back of her throat, this time out of gratitude rather than fear. Of course he wouldn’t blame her for not seeing him at first. He’d understood what she was feeling before she even had. She pressed her nose into his shoulder and didn’t try to fight her smile.

After several long moments, they both pulled back. Rose ran her hand along his left arm and settled it over where she knew his single heart was beating.

“Really, though, Doctor,” she said, “are you okay?”

“So I’m still the Doctor then?”

Just like he knew she would, Rose flashed back to an alien sword fight in the sky so many Christmases ago, and she knew he was only teasing her.

“No argument from me,” she replied knowingly, grinning as she felt a flush warm her cheeks—partly from embarrassment and partly from happiness.

His wide, crooked grin softened as her fingers followed the collar of his oversized pinstripe pajama shirt (a gift from Pete).

“Is it all right?” she asked with a flicker of concern in her eyes.

He let her tug the first two buttons undone so that she could glimpse the burn wound, which he already knew was healing well. He took a good look at the fresh pink-white line of skin, and his face crinkled in a frown as he groaned in exasperation.

“I hope that’s not going to scar,” he complained with perhaps a little too much whininess. “This is a brand-new body. I don’t _want_ any scars yet.”

Rose made a show of inspecting his exposed chest, just to see if he’d let her. He did.

“Hm,” she concluded at last, thoughtfully. “Doesn’t look like it’ll scar. Seems to be healing up good to me.” Then she added less jokingly, “Does it hurt, though? I’ve got some pain medicine the Torchwood doctor gave me, if you need it.”

He considered for a half-second, his brow furrowing.

“No, I need…”

He thought again for another half-second, and then his eyes caught something sitting on the nightstand beside Rose’s head.

“Is that tea?” he questioned hopefully, and without waiting for a response, he dove up (half-squashing Rose, scandalous with the top buttons of his shirt undone) and swiped up the large Vitex mug.

“Yeah, but it’s cold,” Rose told him, sitting up with him as he sat back on his heels in the middle of the bed, big mug in hand.

“Oh, I don’t mind. I just want _tea_!” he responded before taking a big gulp of the room-temperature chamomile.

Rose watched him swallow it down like it was the best drink he’d ever tasted, and she couldn’t help but be equally amazed and amused by his mania, just like in the old days. But suddenly in the midst of those feelings there was a kick of desire to take the mug from his hands and crawl into his lap, a feeling she’d always shoved aside when it’d hinted at appearing back then. Out of respect for him and for the friendship he’d believed couldn’t be more than that, she’d never entertained the thought. Now it was the only thought she wanted to entertain.

He tipped the drink up to make sure he’d gotten every drop before he lowered it down again, and when he saw the look on her face he blinked uncomprehendingly.

“What?”

“It’s just…” she trailed off, wanting to say the right thing, and then a broad smile spread over her face and she continued sincerely and almost disbelievingly, “I’m so happy you’re here, Doctor.”

He returned her wide grin with a little noise of happiness between a hum and a laugh.

“Me too,” he answered, and she could see that he meant it.

He reached around her to set the mug back down on the nightstand, and she followed his every movement until his eyes were looking into hers again.

“Are you really okay?” she pressed, knowing she might be redundant in asking but needing to be absolutely positive.

“I’m fine,” he replied cheerily. “I’m great—in fact, I feel better than I have in _years_. Who knew what a biological metacrisis and a bit of sleep could do, eh? I feel like a new man—I’m not, mind you. Just feel like it.”

She acknowledged his half-serious joke with a smile. Speaking of that…

“So,” she said a little uncertainly, hoping it wasn’t the wrong time but dying to know, “what now? I mean, what are you going to do next, since you’re here in another universe and all?”

He blinked at her, as though attempting to understand why she was asking.

“Well,” he answered, tilting his chin toward the dresser, “I’ve got the chunk of TARDIS. I suppose I’ll do like Donna said and grow a new one. Should take…oh, five years or so. Not too long. Although, with a human lifespan that feels like a good bit of my life already.”

“And then you’ll—” She wondered for a split second how obvious her nervousness was. “—go? Travel this universe?”

He blinked again.

“Yeah, I suppose,” he said, and then added like an afterthought, “Don’t you want to?”

“Yeah!” she replied, a little too quickly, thrilled at the thought that he was just naturally expecting her to join him.  
“You sure?”

“Yeah!” The second time wasn’t any more cool, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

He nodded, and she wasn’t sure whether it was at her or to himself. 

“So,” she went on, not quite getting the answer she’d been looking for yet, “what does that mean, for us?”

His brows scrunched together, as though he were trying to follow her fumbling human girl logic for a moment, even though his expression remained mostly neutral with a hint of contentment.

“I told you already,” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the universe, “on the beach.”

She let him reach down carefully and take her hand from her own lap into his, never breaking her gaze, and she realized—he _had_ been answering her question all along, since the moment he’d taken her hand at Bad Wolf Bay as the TARDIS disappeared for the last time from this universe. She stared down at it, that perfect hand of his, and added her other hand on top, stroking his knuckles with her thumb as a warm, gratified smile broke out across her face almost without her realizing it.

She looked up and met his questioning eyes.

“Will you say it again then?” she pushed softly, refusing to feel silly for asking after how long she'd waited. “What you said, on the beach?”

He didn’t look away from her eyes for a single second as they grew suddenly soft and intense all at once.

“Rose Tyler,”—Her heart fluttered at that voice saying her name like that.—“I love you.”

His face lit up with a grin as bright as the sunshine just starting to peek in through the dispersing clouds outside the window, and all the darkness left in Rose skittered away just like those clouds.

“I _really_ love you, more than you can even understand yet,” he went on, squeezing her hand in his own tightly, “but it would be my honor to show you. I’ve only got one life, and you’re the only person in this universe I want to spend it with. What do you think?”

The way he said it, like he was just offering her a little trip in the TARDIS all over again rather than a whole lifetime of the privilege of loving him, made her eyes sting despite the amused grin that broke out across her face at the perfection of it all.

“Okay,” she answered, half-laughing, half-crying, letting her eyes shine at him openly.

“Yeah?” he murmured, his eyes shining back.

“_Yeah_.”

She reached for him and he leaned down to catch her lips with his own, and their kiss was nothing like it had been on the beach; there it had been fierce, wanting, the kiss of two people who’d been waiting for years for the chance. This kiss was only a little fierce, not wanting at all because they didn’t need to want anymore—they had it all right there belonging to the two of them, forever now. Rose circled her arms around his neck and tangled her fingers into his hair, and the Doctor tightened his hold around her ribs and pulled her flush against him. It was the most satisfying moment so far in either of their lives and they both knew it.

When they finally broke apart, the Doctor didn’t seem fully willing to let her go; instead he only pulled back far enough to rest his forehead against hers, his hands still clutching the back of her oversized pajama shirt. Rose didn’t protest, just kept toying with the hair at the base of his neck and grinning like she hadn’t grinned in years. He huffed an awed-sounding laugh that smelt like cold chamomile tea, kissed her forehead, and nuzzled it with his own again, humming a happy little noise of satisfaction. Everything was perfect in their little world; finally they were both together, safe and sound, happy and healthy.

Then something struck Rose suddenly.

“Are you hungry, Doctor?” she asked, concerned once again, as she pulled back a little more to look into his face. “I’m sure you must be; they’ve been feeding you through needles for a week now, and you said you hadn’t eaten before that. You still look tired, too. You can stay here and rest, if you want. I’ll go and get you some food and I’ll bring more tea while I’m at it.”

Before she could scramble out of the tangle of blankets, the Doctor’s hands tightened on her back and stopped her.

“No!”

Obediently settling back down where she was half in his lap, she searched his face for explanation for the sudden force in his tone. He looked positively human sitting there like this, with two pajama buttons undone and his cheeks flushed and his hair a wreck, vulnerable and gentle and as new to all this as she was.

“Stay with me?” he said, more of a request than a command, and Rose instinctively carded her fingers through his messy hair, unable to stop touching it.

“Yeah, ‘course,” she answered readily (and no force on Earth could have pulled her away from him if he was asking), but she was still concerned. “Aren’t you hungry, though?”

He made a dismissive face and shrugged lightly.

“We can eat later,” he said with indifference. “You look like you could do with some sleep.”

At that, he moved one hand to cup her cheek and she offered him a weary half-smile, thinking of all the insanity she’d been through in the last two weeks—more like two years, really, she guessed. It was almost like a dream now, a very stressful and lonely dream that was vanishing like mist now that he was here, but physically and emotionally she was drained.

“I could definitely do with some sleep,” she agreed.

He pushed her gently down so that she lay on her side facing him, detangled the sheet, and pulled the blankets snugly around them both as he lay mirroring her position.

Rose, despite everything—or maybe _because_ of everything—felt exhaustion tugging at her, not quite enough to make her fall asleep right away, but enough so that she snuggled there under the blankets completely relaxed and not worried about a single thing in all the world. It was as if nothing were even moving anywhere outside, like the whole universe was quiet and it was just the two of them resting in this room together for as long as they wanted. It seemed the Doctor was feeling something similar, going by how his eyes were blinking slowly and how he shoved one hand up under the pillow beneath his head comfortably.

She stared at his face contemplatively, just watching the tiny expressions flicker as he looked lost in thought. After a couple of minutes he broke out of his reverie and looked at her again, and a smile curved one half of his mouth when he saw her staring.

“I feel like I’ve got so much to tell you,” she said, breaking the silence. “So many things have happened, Doctor, in the last couple of years. I’ve got so many ridiculous stories.”

“Me too,” he replied warmly, then excitedly, “I met Shakespeare! And I’m pretty sure he fancied me.”

“Well,” she said, “when I was traveling through the dimensions, looking for you, I met Frida Kahlo and I’m pretty sure _she_ fancied _me_.”

“Hang on now! It’s not a competition,” he protested, and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud when he added hastily, “And even if it were, I’ve met dear old Frida myself and she fancied me too, so that’s two for the Doctor and one for Rose.”

After that, sleep was almost forgotten as their conversation drifted from one story to another—stories of disappearing stars and tangled timelines and diamond planets and all the silly and scary things that had happened to them both since they’d seen each other last. Somehow they ended up moving a bit closer as they talked aimlessly, so that by the time three hours had passed and Rose could barely stay focused anymore, they were mere inches apart.

As their little break in conversation stretched on longer than normal, the Doctor watched Rose’s eyes close and not reopen; a beat of possessiveness went through him at seeing this incredible young woman so unguarded, curled up beside him trustingly. Acting on instinct (and feeling a little thrill at being free to do so), he drew the blankets a little closer around her and raised up to brush a kiss to her cheek.

Rose blinked her eyes open and blearily smiled at him as he lay back down, and he tried not to feel too much satisfaction at how she refused to close her eyes again until her hand was wrapped firmly in his between them.

Even with his Time Lord senses, it was impossible to say how long he lay there imagining his brand-new life where he could spend every day holding her hand. Even though he knew it better than his own, he rememorized her frankly stunning face in the dim evening light before he faded into slumber too.

———————————————------------------------------------

Sometime during the night, Rose drifted awake and found the room completely black except for a ray of moonlight shining through the window. She wasn’t used to having another person sharing her bed, but even in her half-aware state she wasn’t startled at the Doctor’s dark, unmoving form lying so close. She would recognize that presence anywhere, in any setting. In fact a wave of peace washed over her as she registered his soft, even breaths. Almost without thinking about it, she squirmed forward and pushed herself against him in the darkness, her ear pressed against his single heartbeat.

Above her the Doctor inhaled softly, tensing as he stirred from his own slumber; a second later, both his arms enveloped her and she felt a clumsy kiss on the top of her head. She let his legs tangle with hers, breathed in his scent—that familiar warm sweetness and cool metal and something indefinable like stardust—and they both fell into an even deeper rest than before.


	5. Chapter 5

In sharp contrast to their peaceful night, the Doctor and Rose began their morning in a shock of noisy chaos. Both grunted awake when an unapologetic Cockney drawl pierced the hours-long silence.

“Oi! Hands off, Doctor—I won’t be having none of that under my roof.”

The Doctor was torn between joy and dread at that unforgettably motherly tone. He didn’t obediently release Rose just yet, and instead just shot a dark look at Jackie over the girl's blonde head. Jackie didn't notice as she kicked aside one of her daughter's slippers from her path, bearing a steaming mug that smelled of English Breakfast.

“Don’t look at me like that, Mister,” she snapped at him, clearly only half-meaning it. “You might be stuck living here with us, but don’t think that gives you any sort of special privileges with my daughter.”

“_Mum_,” Rose whined back, as Jackie turned on the switch over her little vanity across the room and flooded the area with unnatural light.

“And you were supposed to tell us when the Doctor woke up,” the woman continued at Rose now, an expert at ignoring her only child’s irritable protests. “Imagine that—us sitting down there, worried off our heads for the Doctor, and you two up here cuddling like you’re the only two people on planet Earth! I take it this means he’s all better now.”

“All better,” he confirmed merrily, as he and Rose sat up at last, slowly and lazily. “Woke up, had some of your tea, and I felt like myself again. Fixed me right up.”

He ruffled his hair with a stretch that popped a couple of spots in his back, while Rose shifted onto her knees close to him and rubbed her eyes awake in an almost childlike gesture.

“So what now then?” Jackie asked after a beat, as she cleared away a bit of Rose’s makeup so she could set her tea down on the vanity and lean against it facing them. “Will you be staying, Doctor? Or will you take Rose and go off and away again like before?”

“Well…” he glanced at Rose, and he could just sense that she would be happy with whatever his answer was, her trust in him fully restored. “…I thought I’d stick around, for a few years at least, till my new TARDIS is grown enough to travel. I suppose, in the meantime, I’ll have to figure it all out as I go. You wouldn’t happen to know of anywhere that’s hiring, would you? I’ve got my certificate from the Time Lord Academy and a hell of a resumé, even though none of it can be verified here. I could consult. That’s what I did a few regenerations ago—worked for U.N.I.T. Did I ever tell you about that, Rose? The Unified Intelligence Task Force—I worked for them as a scientific consultant, specializing in alien life. I could do that.”

All the sleepiness rubbed out of her eyes, Rose beamed at him in the morning light, baffled all over again at how lucky she was to have him here.

“I’m sure me and Dad can find you something at Torchwood, Doctor,” she assured him playfully.

“Good,” he nodded, satisfied. “Well, now that’s settled, what do you say to a little breakfast? I’m _starving_.”

Jackie looked ever-so-slightly unconvinced for another few seconds, but the Doctor was good by now at ignoring her dark moods towards him. He could understand; he’d taken her innocent nineteen-year-old daughter away in his blue box so many years ago and had brought her back changed forever. He’d turned their whole world upside down—literally and metaphorically. Jackie Tyler had never understood why he’d done it, or why Rose had wanted it. Maybe she never fully would, but it didn’t matter. The Doctor loved Rose, and Rose wanted him, and Jackie was good enough to accept that. Everything else they could work out.

When he stood and started to round the bed toward the door, he was a bit startled that Jackie stopped biting her lip indecisively and stepped forward to hug him without warning. She buried her face in his shoulder and squeezed him so tightly he almost couldn’t breathe, and at Rose’s look of pleased affection he responded in kind. Wrapping his arms around Jackie’s shoulders, he waited patiently for her to let go first.

“D’you know,” the ever-sincere mum said, pulling away after a few seconds, “I thought things were gonna end a lot worse off. I’m glad you’re here, Doctor.”

And if that wasn’t enough to assure him he was in the right place now, finally, he didn’t know what else possibly could.

——————————————————

Despite everything, the morning felt like the most ordinary lazy family breakfast in the world, and everyone in the room seemed perfectly fine with that.

The kitchen table was piled with pancakes and scrambled eggs and toast, the air full of the flavorful smells and the happy noise of all their voices back and forth. The Doctor wondered if Rose was recalling that happy Christmas dinner right after the Sycorax, because he certainly was, as Jackie flustered about where Pete had hidden the orange juice bottle in the fridge and which baby food Tony was refusing to eat this week.

The baby in question sat cooing in his high chair, occupied between banging his rattle on the tray and accepting little spoonfuls of the mashed muck of brown. The Doctor hadn’t gotten to spend time around many babies in a long while, but he loved watching Tony as he watched everyone with wide eyes just like Rose’s.

When they’d all settled around the table, a brief lull was broken by Pete dropping one hand solidly on the Doctor’s shoulder where he sat beside him.

“Well, Doctor,” he said in that soft but authoritative voice of his that had made him a trusted leader at Torchwood, “I can’t say I was ever expecting to have you over for breakfast.”

The Doctor offered an amused half-smile at how much of an understatement _that_ was.

“But,” Pete continued, “I think we got off lucky here, in this universe. Welcome home.”

It was such a simple statement, but somehow it struck the Doctor harder than he would have expected. Maybe it was that one word—home. This was Pete’s World, and Pete had just welcomed him into it…Jackie was glad he was there…Rose’s foot was brushing gently against his calf under the table…and for the first time in his entire life, he actually felt like someone—these fantastic people, right here—needed him to stay. Not just to help and go, not just to be called back when he was needed, but to _stay_.

Rose, probably seeing something in his face as Pete and Jackie started to eat, reached over and subtly squeezed his hand. He squeezed back and moved his leg so that it was crisscrossed with hers under the table.

————————————————

Answering questions at Torchwood had taken quite a bit longer than either Rose or the Doctor had anticipated. In the other universe, there were bits of information about the Doctor scattered around every government agency, and it would only have taken one call to U.N.I.T. to clarify everything for the record. In this universe, however, the only mention of the mysterious Doctor was during the Cyberman revolution a few years back and at Canary Wharf a little later, so in addition to questions about the Reality Bomb’s aversion, there were also a lot of questions about who he was, how he’d come to be there, why, and whether or not he might consider taking a leadership position in the agency.

The Doctor answered the first sets of questions with successful response, but his flippant, cheery answer to the last one was less than satisfactory. Rose watched in amusement as they all but begged, only to have the Doctor agree to nothing bigger than occasional consulting work.

“I’ve got other things to concentrate on for now,” was his only explanation, and Rose knew he might’ve meant growing the TARDIS, but she liked to think he might’ve meant her too.

It was mid-afternoon by the time they departed Torchwood. On a mutual whim, they sent their driver home for the day and Rose spent the next five hours feeling like she was nineteen again and she’d just run away with the Doctor for the first time. Hand in hand, they wandered the city in the general direction of the Tyler mansion but with constant deviations into side streets and little shops that looked interesting. 

Rose realized she’d been so caught up in getting back to him, she hadn’t even really taken in this London in the years she’d been living here. And there was no one better to discover a city with than the Doctor, who thought every quirky little antiques emporium was _"brilliant"_ and every brightly-colored pastry shop deserved a good sniff. She just held onto his hand and let him drag her into every nook and cranny; she listened to him with everything she had as he babbled happily about how he’d helped invent _this_ radio part in the ‘50s and how he’d learnt from the creator himself how to make _that_ fancy bread in ancient France.

Finally, while the Doctor read a plaque mounted to a building declaring the historic significance of the place, she spotted something on a window mannequin that she couldn’t refuse. With an amused look, he let her drag him into the shop, pile his size of the brown pinstripe suit into his arms, and shove him into a dressing room. After that, it became a bit of a game, hunting down things they both liked for him.

They finally made it home with a mix of menswear ranging from classic pinstripe suits in brown and blue to grey sweatpants and soft t-shirts in unassuming colors. Rose had even insisted on the most expensive high-tops in the Converse outlet, because he generally ran too much not to have good-quality shoes. They’d stopped off only once more to get basic supplies—toothpaste and soap and the like, which had always hitherto been supplied by the TARDIS so the Doctor hadn’t ever actually purchased with any consideration before. Rose couldn’t help but giggle when he literally licked each bar of soap before choosing one.

After dinner with Pete and Jackie, they unpacked the purchases into the guest room across the hall from Rose’s room…although Rose expected the Doctor knew already he wouldn’t be staying there that night, not if she had anything to say about it. Her bed was plenty big enough for them both and she wasn’t too keen on him being out of her sight just yet, not when they had so much time to catch up on. She knew that they weren't quite ready to take the next step (though she had every reason to think they would be soon), but just sleeping next to him had been more comforting and had felt more natural than all her previous boyfriends combined. 

That almost made her giggle. Is that as he was now? Her _boyfriend_? She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Such an ordinary word didn't come close to covering all the years they'd spent together. It was like they were going all out of order; most couples met, became friends, started to love, dated, fell more deeply in love, married, and then committed themselves to each other's happiness forever. With her and the Doctor, the deep love came at the same time as the friendship, then the commitment came while they went on sort-of dates across time and space, and now what? She'd marry him on the spot if he asked, no question. See? All out of order.

In fact, she already had her eye on a couple of flats they’d passed that day in the town. It would just make things easier, she thought, to have some space of their own for a while, while they waited for the TARDIS to grow. She flashed back a few times to a moment so long before, in an exploratory base under a black hole; she’d felt the same thrill then, talking about living in a house with him, even though she’d known their relationship would probably never be what she’d wanted. (1) Now it was, against all odds, and they were going to have a proper house together as soon as they could find the best one, and after that they’d travel the universe again, and the Doctor had been right back in the Cyberman factory.

She’d gained _so much_ more than she’d ever expected.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

(1) Reference to _The Impossible Planet_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this. Thanks for reading so far!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm sorry it took me so long to post this final chapter, if you were waiting for it! Things have been wild the last couple of weeks with classes and then Thanksgiving break now, and even though I'd had this chapter written already there were some things I wanted to polish up before posting it. Anyway, sorry for the wait and I hope you enjoy the ending!

Long after the sun’s rays had vanished from the sky, Pete and Jackie said their good-nights and left Rose and the Doctor sitting on the little veranda off the main hall.

Rose finished her last swallows of tea quickly so she could set the cup aside and curl closer to the Doctor with her feet propped up on the little coffee table. Subtly, she watched his profile while he contemplated the noiseless night that had settled across the big, fogbound yard.

“There’s something off,” he murmured at length, gesturing up with his own teacup in his left hand, “just there. That star’s different than in our world. It’s meant to be on the other side of the blue one.”

He sipped another mouthful, brows knitted together thoughtfully at his discovery, eyes darting around no doubt to catch other little inconsistencies in the night sky. Rose twisted and draped her arm on the seat back by his shoulder; with her head resting on it, her eyes were level with his collar, and she thought of something she wanted to ask but was a little worried about how he might take it.

Still, she mustered up her courage, confident that he was capable of understanding what she was trying to say.

“Doctor.”

“Mm?”

His gaze turned to her, fully focused, and she raised her head again but kept her own eyes concentrated on the neckline of his t-shirt—the same one he’d taken from the TARDIS, washed and donned this morning in lieu of any other clothes that had fit him.

“It’s just…” she trailed off and started again. “I know it’s you. I get that now, I really do. I _know_ you’re the Doctor.”

His brows knitted a little more, a flicker of weighty curiosity in his eyes at such an insistent opening.

“But?” he pressed, leaning to set his own teacup on the ground.

“Well,” she shifted, and decided the best approach was just to be direct, “you are different, though, aren’t you? I mean, just a little bit, right? Like this t-shirt.”

“What’s wrong with it? It’s almost the same color as yours that day.”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to her, but he was right. She felt a sudden rush of amusement at the idea that he’d gone to the wardrobe straightaway and picked an outfit that matched hers for when he rescued her from the Dalek Crucible. His mildly offended tone suggested that hadn’t been an accident.

“Nothing’s _wrong_ with it,” she replied, sitting up a little more on her knees. “It’s just…you never wore them before—t-shirts, I mean. Only every once in a while you did. And you usually had a button-down over it.”

At his continued confusion, she went on, hoping he didn’t think her silly for making such a big deal out of something so small.

“It doesn’t matter that much,” she told him hastily, “except that you’ve never worn it like this before. It’s just little things—in your face sometimes, the way you move—that feels different than before. You’ve got some of Donna Noble’s DNA in you. Is that what I’m seeing? I just want to be sure I’m not making it up in my head—being a stupid ape again and not seeing things right.”

He turned to look out across the grounds again, one brow raised pensively for a long moment; Rose had the feeling he was evaluating himself, reflecting back to before and after the Metacrisis and determining how much of him was the same and what might be different. Then he replied willingly,

“Well…I _was_ in the process of regenerating. I suppose it’s not entirely impossible little bits of me changed here and there, apart from Donna.”

Rose nodded, her eyes darting down to his tieless t-shirt and the sleepy, relaxed ease with which he leaned back on the seat.

“Mind you,” he was quick to add, looking to her with kind eyes that were still firm with self-assurance, “it’s only little things, if that. I think…well…”

“What, Doctor?” she pressed, eager to understand more of the mystical regeneration process he’d always been so reserved about explaining.

“The Time Lords never could agree on how it happens,” he said, his voice taking on that underlying softness it always did when talking about his beloved lost people. “They said it’s random, regenerating, but there was always some debate about whether or not there was choice in it as well. I always liked to believe there was, that the person I became next was a result of some subconscious hopes or dreams, something I wanted or needed to be. I’m almost positive it happened like that when…”

He stopped himself, and the dreamy sheen left his eyes in a second as he looked sidelong at her once again. Rose stayed quiet and gave him the few moments he needed to explain these thoughts he’d never spoken aloud before.

“…when I changed the first time, with you,” he finished, and the softness in his voice now had nothing to do with the Time Lords and everything to do with her.

“How do you mean?” she pressed, genuinely enraptured by the whole concept of it all.

He looked down, almost as though he were embarrassed somehow, but he continued without hesitation.

“I wanted to be human—or at least part of me did. I’d never wanted that before, not really. I’ve always loved the Earth and its people, but I’d never wished so hard to be one…not until I met you. My people were gone, my planet—I had nothing else; for the first time in my life I didn’t even have the choice to go back. All I had was you, and I wanted it—oh, how I wanted it, to hold your hand, every day for the rest of my life. Even though I’d just lost everything, I’d have been happy with just that.”

Rose covered how her heart picked up and her breath caught just a little at the thought of him like that. He’d been all cool blue eyes and hard-edged voice and stubborn broad shoulders back then, and she’d always been torn between seeing him three ways—as her wonderful best friend, as a mighty genius Time Lord, and as something more. Though in hindsight she supposed she always knew she loved him like this, she’d never dared to think he felt the same, at least not before he’d changed. Now that he was telling her, those days seemed all the more beautiful and he all the more desirable.

“When I changed then, after Satellite Five, I think…no, I _know_ what I became was because of that. I wanted to be good for you, in every way I could be. It was like I sort of molded myself to match you. I’ve never been like this before, you know. Usually when I change I’m not so…”

“Handsome?” Rose supplied with a cheeky smile.

She was surprised when, rather than countering with a joke, he flushed faintly in the moonlight and looked down at his hands with an almost wry little smile. Her grin grew wider at the blatant cuteness of it, this occasional shyness that could overtake him when he was being open about himself for a change.

“_Young_, was what I was going for,” he said, rubbing back of his neck as the blush faded. “Anyway, my point is, maybe that’s what happened this time too. I really don’t think I changed much, but if I did, it’s probably just because of seeing you again, right before the Dalek shot me. I became more of what I wanted to be, with you. You don’t just make me better, Rose; you make me more human. And I do feel like my life’s started over in a lot of ways—new life, new-new-new Doctor.”

She smiled in acknowledgement of their conversation on New Earth so long before, right after he’d changed from the ninth to the tenth and they were settling into their different dynamic of flirting and giggles. In the next few seconds of silence, she let her eyes roam over his face. She would never know for sure, she guessed, but she liked to think that even if he had changed completely into a new man, she would still have seen him after the shock had worn off. Even if his hair was shorter or longer, his skin darker or lighter, his face younger or older, she would know him and love him just as much. He certainly was handsome—the most adorable and alluring man she’d ever known, with his thick brown hair and his unselfconscious laughter and his slim form. She definitely liked looking at him. But what she loved about the Doctor was deeper than that. It was in his soul, and his soul never changed no matter how his body might.

“Still you, though,” she declared at last.

The half-smile that lit up his face was exactly the same as before.

“Still me,” he replied with confidence.

She believed that with all her heart, but still another thought struck her. Because he wasn’t exactly the same, was he? Not because of Donna’s effects, or even because of any other little changes, but because this Doctor was the first one to have actually gotten that new life he talked about.

He was the first to let himself fall in love, the first to give up his TARDIS and his universe, the first free to choose. The other Doctor (she was shocked at herself when she realized that’s how the thought of the Time Lord one now) might go off and have a life, and she would always love him too, but he wasn’t part of her world anymore. He was gone, and she hoped with all her heart he’d go and find more people who would love him and help him the way he deserved, but that couldn’t be her anymore.

This one, though, deserved that just as much, and he was all hers. This Doctor had lost one heart and gotten Rose’s to replace it, and they would never have a reason to be apart again. One life, and they were going to spend it growing old together. That was the only significant way he was different in the end. This one had the chance to be happy—fully and completely happy—and she could give that to him. She was the only one who could.

A surge of deep affection and devotion shot through her, and she couldn’t stop herself from leaning forward and pressing a firm, claiming kiss to his mouth. He kissed her back easily, one hand slipping to her waist and settling there comfortably, like they’d been doing this for years and would keep doing it for a hundred more.

She snuggled closer until she was halfway in his lap and embraced him tightly, satisfied when one of his arms wrapped around her equally as tightly while the other hand pressed into her hair. The sound of his single heartbeat thudded in one ear and the nighttime crickets chirped distantly in the other.

“My Doctor,” she murmured into his jacket, marveling at how literal that statement was now.

She could practically feel him smiling as he held her like that—protectively, possessively, like she was worth everything he’d given up and he didn’t regret any of it.

“My girl,” he answered, just as certainly.

Rose bit her bottom lip and grinned, because that was true too, wasn’t it? He’d never been able to call any of his companions his own before, not to the extent that she was. She was as much his as the reverse was true and he could finally embrace that for all it was worth, with nothing to hold him back.

“We are gonna have such a fantastic life,” he added after a beat, as if he could read her very thoughts, his voice as full of awe and conviction as if he were describing one of the glorious wonders of the universe.

Rose shifted a bit and relaxed against him, bidding a silent prayer of love and farewell to the other Doctor in his other universe. It was time to let him go, because that’s what he’d wanted for her; he hadn’t left her behind out of apathy but out of love…the same love this Doctor—the same Doctor—was free to show, and she would move on knowing that. She and her Doctor were going to have so much _fun_, she could feel it; tomorrow they’d begin to figure out this new life. They’d talk and laugh and run and tease all the government officials who would try to control them, and they’d never ever slow down—except for frequent time-stopping kisses, of course, and in the evenings when they’d curl up together just like this, and at night when they’d inevitably wind up in bed and their kisses would turn into something more (she couldn’t wait for that either).

Tomorrow all that would start, but for now they sat in perfect contented silence under the stars while the remainder of his tea went cold at their feet.

_ **The End** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking of writing one or two more Doctor/Rose fics (emphasizing Metacrisis/Rose), just so y'all know, in case you want to keep on the lookout for them. Thanks so much for reading this one and I hope you have a fantastic rest of your week! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Altogether this fic has about 16,000 words, just so you know what to expect before it's complete. Let me know what you think please! I always like to know if they're in character and the tone is right. x)


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